Love Letters to a Friend: Part 3

emotional whiplash

Read the first letter and explanation of this short series here.

9/8/25 - The Third “Love” letter

I just left your house. No hugs, no “I love yous,” no “I'm sorry,” not even a goodbye.

When I asked for reassurances this morning, you said you know I’m a good friend. That I’m important to you. Last night, you said soulmate. That you were in love. That you think we could fuck. That I’m the only woman. You brought up our shared house in the future. Merging me with your family and friends.

Introduced me to friends over the phone. You spoke to one on the phone, leaning against me, my legs around your waist, my tongue in your ear. You caressing me. Then your hands in my mouth. Told her you think you might be bi or at least that you’re interested in me, a woman. When she laughed at the idea of YOU being into a woman, you told her your fingers were in my mouth. I said hi. We laughed and chatted about you, her checking if I really know you, know how gay you are. We both assured her through laughs that I know everything.

I’m on the MRT, fleeing from you. Overstimulated and overwhelmed. I can still smell the rank stench of your breath in my nostrils and the ache of your bites on my skin. Bruises bloom purple black.

You always say you aren’t a man. That you hate men. Like me, you have been betrayed and abandoned by them. Today was the first time you acted like one. Polite but distant. Hoping not to set me off. But your energy shift. Withholding what you know I know I needed and wanted, because you know these things even more instinctively than I do.

You truly surprised me for the first time today. That was the last thing I said to you before I walked out. And it’s true. When you left the bed this morning, you came back with a glass of water and a bowl of pineapple for yourself. You didn’t offer me anything. Last night, you held my chin as you poured water in my mouth, worried that I hadn’t been drinking enough. Later, I was doing my makeup, and you told me not to leave a cigarette. My calling card when I used to disappear from him, the one whose name you don’t even let me mention, because you don’t like thinking of how cruelly I was treated by him. Is history repeating? Are you going to reenact every fear and trauma that I trusted you with? Could I have been this naive, or you this great of an actor? Was this you knowing I wanted to run, or you telling me to? Or both.

You opened your freezer, with its frozen trash, banana peels, and other leftovers you don’t want stinking up your place. And the ice cream I bought last night. You told me you’re not going to eat it. Like, I would never be coming back to eat it myself. I knew I had to leave. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. I won’t beg. Not for anyone. Definitely not for a man. Not even for you.

I didn’t sleep last night. Or well. After the high wore off and the lights were out. You trailed silk caresses across my body. I writhed and moaned at your touch just like you had to mine.

At some point yesterday, tangled in each other, you said I was your favorite. That you couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Told me that we could fuck anyone we wanted but this, this intimacy was only for us to share. I agreed. You said that we’d spend our lives together, that any romantic partner would have to know we’re a package deal. You asked how long I’d known. Since about 3 weeks in.

You said that you’d tell your mom, Diane, Tiffany’s mom. You said that you had to filter what we were to Tiffany, though, she wouldn’t understand.

As you bit me, stroked me, slid your fingers down my throat, choked me, covered my mouth and nose, controlling my breath. You told me to write about this. That reading my words would turn you on. You thought my writing about this night would be as kind as my mouth was on your body. My tongue and teeth worshipping everything but your cock. Oh, how I wish that I could be, I wish I were waxing poetic about our love, our explorations of each other's bodies and minds.

I did things to you that I have never done to anyone. And things I never thought I would. I splayed my love open like a sacrifice on your altar. I submitted. And I believed you.

I told you this morning that I feel silly. You said I shouldn’t. But you’ve made a joke of me. Treating me like a bottom you’re having pity on. Allowing me to spend the night, but silently aching for me to leave.

You asked what I wanted you to say. For the first time, I truly didn’t feel safe to say how I felt. I wanted you to say that you feel the same as you did last night. That together we could figure this out. What do I do now? What about pride? The Maldives? Everything. Is this really happening?

This morning in bed, you asked if you were too rough. You asked how much pain I could take. All of you? In me. Last night, you questioned your sexuality. Today, I can feel you putting up walls.

Maybe you’re just as overwhelmed as I am. Maybe you’re just as scared. Last night was the most vulnerable either of us had ever been with another person. Of course, today we will feel raw, exposed. I admit I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I want this to be. But I don’t want it to stop. Last night, I did want to feel your fingers in me. My center throbbing when you pulled on my teeth. Tracing the curves of my ass, thighs, my mound. Palm of your hand and knees pressing into my clit like I told you too. Your tongue flicking the tip of my finger as you bit down.

I straddled you. Ground my hips into yours as you thrust back. As I stroked, bit, licked, kissed your body I felt your belly pulse underneath my cunt. Pillow over your head. Hands on my thighs. “This is what it feels like to be with a woman.” Neither of us knowing if it was a statement or a question.

Finally, you submitted and let me take a finger and then two into my mouth. Your cock soft but your body so sensitive and reactive. You moaned louder than I ever have. Eventually, you took the pillow off. Watched me as your fingers entered my mouth. Watched me gag on them.

Kneeling over me. Looking at me while you touched me. Watching my reactions. You told me you couldn't wait to hear what I would write about this. How much you love my words. Moving up and down my legs with your fingers and mouth. Leaving bites down both my inner thighs, hard enough to leave the marks we both love so much.

We laid on our backs. You asked me to teach you about the pussy. Fingers exploring with my guidance over my underwear.

Girl, I don’t know what to think or what to feel. You said you don’t regret yesterday. You say you remember everything you said. But didn’t say that your feelings hadn’t changed.

I feel untethered. Embarrassed. I won’t tell anyone about this. I won’t take pictures of the marks you’ve left on me.

Last night, you asked how I think you feel about this. I said you’re pissed that this is happening with a woman. And you laughed and agreed. Is that what this is? You’re going to end this so you can try again with a man?

I left your house over an hour ago. Still not a message. Not a goodbye. What aren’t you telling me?

Last night, walking home, I saw a woman with a great body, but I didn’t like her face. I said, “I need a pretty face.” You said “like me.” Friday night on the phone, you asked what I’d look for in a dating profile. And again, you said it was you. You’ve called yourself my muse. You remarked yesterday how I got so mad when you said that you know when I don’t want to talk to anyone, that doesn’t include you. You said I hate it because it gives you power over me. You said you’ve never taken advantage of it. But have you now? Did you play with me to see how far I’d go? How deep my feelings were? Do you just need time to process?

Again, we lay tangled, and you said that I have this way of getting under your skin. That I’ve become part of your daily life. At some point, you also said that if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here. Does that mean you would have moved or plan B? You said you wouldn’t kiss me last night because if you did, I wouldn’t respect you. Is that what I did wrong? Did I give too much? Did you lose respect? God dammit I thought we were passed these fucking games. I told you I was telling my nervous system that you’re safe. I took all my walls down. I was completely honest. And I wanted to show you care and love. You said you’d never experienced something so intimate. Same. You said that when you're touched it’s always all about your cock and this was the first time in your life someone was touching your body and it wasn’t about that.

You said something that is haunting me. That your friends wouldn’t believe that you were doing this with a woman! So degrading.

Or maybe you lost respect for me because I was too eager. Even though you know I’m insatiable, and you are very much in my realm of sexual experience. I was wasted. I felt fucking safe. I thought I was being honest with a friend. Unmasked. But instead, I did what I thought I’d never do again. Be fucking vulnerable to a man who saw my affection as permission to take my power from me. Just a slut.

Last night. In the dark. As we prepared for sleep. You ran your fingertips over my body. Had me describe how it felt. Where I felt it. Through the crack in my ass and my inner thigh. You pushed my underwear in my cunt. Asked me what I love about you. Your breath in my ear, the back of my neck, causing me to writhe. You urged me to keep answering your questions through my hitching breaths. I have never been more honest with another human. I laid my soul bare. I let down every guard. And this morning, you didn’t even offer me a glass of water. I’m drowning in your lack.